


Rendezvous

by IdrilsSecret



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, Tolkien - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrilsSecret/pseuds/IdrilsSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two royal bodyguards sent to escort Legolas to Rivendell test the laws of Mirkwood while testing each other. Targon and Beldor are two unnamed characters from my Erestor/Glorfindel fic, 'Mine'. They were caught unawares in a storeroom closet by Erestor. This is their story that led up to that embarrassing moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to my very best friend who never stops encouraging me. Thanks for all that you do. Thanks for being you.

It was no secret that Mirkwood’s Prince was apprehensive about going to Rivendell. Legolas had devastating news to report about the escape of a prisoner. His father was disappointed in him, finding him responsible for the unfortunate mistake that led to the prisoner’s disappearance. Legolas’ only chance to win back his father’s good graces was to go himself, and explain to Lord Elrond, what happened and why.

Although Legolas felt he could do things on his own, his father was always very reluctant to let him do so. This time was no different from any other. King Thranduil assigned one of his best guards to escort Legolas to Rivendell. With all that had happened, there was no room for argument, and Legolas agreed to the guards.

Targon was a tough warrior of Mirkwood, always ready to fight for his King and his people. When he was called to duty, he did not question the reason. All he knew was that he had to escort Prince Legolas through the perilous woodlands and see him safely to Imladris and back. He took his job quite seriously, and King Thranduil trusted him to protect his only son and heir. Targon was Thranduil’s personal guard, and he did not lend him out easily. For Legolas, though, the King would give a thousand Targon’s to protect him.

Legolas’ only request was to have one of his guards be his own man, Beldor. He was a strong ellon, though he was soft spoken. Legolas thought of him as much a friend as a guard, and with his father breathing down his neck about the incident with the prisoner, the Prince rather wished for someone compatible. He knew Targon, of course, but the elf was very stone-faced and emotionless, all about his job. Beldor, however, could rip the legs off one of Ungoliant’s evil spawn with his bare hands, and then continue a pleasant conversation without skipping one word. He was kind hearted as Legolas was, but fierce and unforgiving to the enemy. Legolas had fought with Beldor many times, and saved the Prince on occasion.

The Prince was prepared to leave with his two royal bodyguards, when his father stopped him, announcing he had one more elf who would join the company, one of the King’s counselors, Lamen. Legolas and Beldor glanced at each other, disappointment apparent between them. Legolas did not care much for Lamen. The counselor was clever, sometimes too much so. He seemed to find it necessary to know everyone’s business, whether they wanted him to know or not. The Prince could already tell by Lamen’s excitement, that he was looking forward to learning everything there was to know about the incident with the prisoner. Up until this point, the whole thing was kept quiet. Only those involved, and a few other important courtiers, knew what had happened the day the prisoner escaped Mirkwood. Lamen was the last elf anyone wanted knowing about it. The ellon’s tongue flapped worse than a ship’s sail in a storm.

Beldor was discouraged by Lamen’s appearance, but for another reason. As he realized the counselor was joining the company, he stole a glance a Targon, who rolled his eyes as he shared Beldor’s adversity. Lamen’s ever-watchful eye meant that Targon and Beldor would have no chance to steal away, for the two royal bodyguards were lovers. This was not usually a problem. Targon guarded King Thranduil, while Beldor guarded Prince Legolas. They rarely worked together, but it was an inconvenience now that they must both protect Legolas. There was no law against two elves (whether of the same or opposite sex) having relations, but there was a problem when both were on duty together guarding the same charge. Personal feelings must be put aside or they might become distracted. Thranduil was very adamant about this law, especially when it came to his only son. He was apprehensive about allowing Beldor to join the company, but he knew what close friends Legolas and Beldor were. It would do his son some good to have a friendly companion.

“I don’t like this one bit,” Targon whispered to Beldor as they were making final preparations to leave. “Lamen can be sneaky.”

“He’ll be keeping an eye out for sure, but you know the rules, Targon. We will just have to be professional about this, and give Lamen no reason to suspect a thing,” Beldor said assuredly.

Targon did not like Beldor’s plan, and he let him know by grabbing his arm roughly, and pulling him to himself. Targon’s gilded wavy locks fell forward, hiding half of his chiseled face. Tall and broad was the golden warrior, and a couple inches taller than Beldor. His blue eyes radiated lust as he peered at his lover.

“I do not think I can keep my hands from you for so long,” Targon whispered with hot breath into Beldor’s ear. Then his fingers slipped through Beldor’s straight sable hair. The warrior found his lover hard to resist. He was built similarly to himself, the same toned features from shoulders to waist, but Beldor’s hazel eyes were softer, and his heart reached out a little easier. Targon liked to be in control, and Beldor liked to be ruled, but only between the sheets. Theirs was a very intense relationship, hardness and compassion, but they completed each other like a well written book.

Beldor’s strikingly beautiful hazel eyes curved into a smile, “I’ll wager you that you will not be able to control yourself before we get the Prince to Rivendell.”

Targon cocked a brow. “You think I am weak?” he accused.

“When it comes to satisfying your lustful cravings, yes,” Beldor responded, sure of himself. “I, on the other hand, will have no problem containing myself, though I cannot say what I will do once we reach our destination.”

Targon narrowed his eyes, seeing that Beldor was serious about the wager. “What is my reward for my temporary celibacy?”

“Hmm,” Beldor thought. “What is it you want?”

“You must tend to my every need for a week, and not just in bed. You must cook, clean, lay out my clothes in the morning, draw my bath in the evening, and wash my hair for me. You will do all that I ask of you without a single complaint, and I will decide how to reward you when the day is done,” said, Targon, as though he had already thought about it.

Beldor wasn’t too keen on the idea of being Targon’s personal servant. He knew Targon would never give him a moments rest until the daylight waned. But the gilded warrior had sweetened the deal with promises of nights spent in ecstasy. Perhaps it was worth getting dirty for. “Alright, I will agree to your terms if you agree to mine.”

“And what do you want if you should win?” Targon asked.

“I want you for a week, whenever and wherever I say, and as many times as I want, and I don’t mean cooking and cleaning. It will not matter what you are doing… when I call upon you, you must come with me. You will let me make all decisions. I will be in control, and you will bow down to me and offer yourself submissively, body and soul, but mostly your cock.” Beldor smiled wickedly and winked.

As tempting as the offer was, Targon cringed internally. The words, ‘bow down’ and ‘submissively’ were difficult to comprehend for the gilded warrior. He did not bow down to anyone. He was always in control. Targon was a captain, he was a leader, and he always got his way, including in the bedroom with Beldor. The thought of submitting to his mate seemed cruel, but Targon was not one to turn from a challenge. “I accept,” he confirmed. Then he captured Beldor’s lips, crushing his mouth against his lover’s. Beldor melted against Targon, relishing the demanding kiss, so harsh and violent that he could almost taste blood.

When Targon finally released him, Beldor caught his breath and spoke, “You will never make it to Rivendell.”

“We have not begun the wager yet, not until we leave the city.” Targon looked around him. There was not much time before they would be on their way. “The horses are packed and ready. We have enough time to have one more tryst before we must go, and you have me swollen and aching for you, Beldor.”

“By the gods, when you speak to me like that—” Beldor hadn’t finished his sentence, and Targon was leading him off to some secluded spot where they would make love fast and urgently, just once more before heading out for Imladris.

* * *

The journey from Mirkwood had been not only pressing, but tiresome. The Prince pushed his company onward towards Imladris at a hurried pace. Even the horses were having trouble maintaining their stealth, and elven horses were some of the heartiest of the breed. Targon and Beldor were too involved in their jobs to even think about the wager they made before leaving Mirkwood. It was just as well, for it gave Lamen no reason to suspect anything between the lovers.

Beldor spent his evenings talking with Legolas, working out the details of what the Prince would tell Lord Elrond once they arrived in Imladris.

“Have you not met Elrond before?” Beldor asked. Legolas was a few hundred years younger than himself. The Prince had not the experience of the world outside of Mirkwood.

“I have not,” Legolas answered, “But I know he is very wise, and some say he is quite stern also. I already have my father berating me about this mess, and I am not sure what to expect of Lord Elrond.”

“Well, you are right about his severe mood. Sometimes he can be uncompromising, but I do not think he would risk causing a rift between him and your father. Elrond is also forgiving and fair in judgment. I think he will not give you too much grief.” As he spoke, Targon walked by the fire where Beldor and Legolas sat. “What do you say, Targon? Will Lord Elrond go easy on the young Prince?”

Targon came over and crouched down by Beldor, giving Legolas his usual emotionless stare. “It depends on the importance of the prisoner. None of us know who he was or where he came from, but he seemed to be of some concern to the wizard Mithrandir. I am thinking it is the old grey man who will cause you concern, not Lord Elrond.”

“Mithrandir?” Lamen said from somewhere in the shadows. “What has he got to do with it all?”

Legolas rolled his eyes while Targon and Beldor gave each other looks. “We do not know much,” Targon answered for them. “He brought the strange fellow to us and asked that we keep a wary eye on him.”

“So much good that did,” Lamen said, walking over to where the other three elves sat.

“Do not judge others when you know not the circumstances,” Beldor said in Legolas’ defense.

“Whatever the circumstances,” Lamen said throwing his hand in the air, “it still led to the release of a prisoner.”

“He was not released. We were attacked and we tried to protect the creature, but we were too few and he was stolen from us,” Legolas said with animosity.

“Ah, well… details,” Lamen said unconcerned.

“If you must know—” Legolas started to argue, but Targon grasped the Princes shoulder firmly, stopping him from saying anything more. Then the golden haired protector looked at Lamen.

“What’s done is done. Our only focus now is seeing our Prince safely to Imladris. Whatever else commences is between Legolas and Lord Elrond,” Targon said, a strict warning to his tone. Lamen sensed this and said no more.

“Come my Prince,” Beldor said with a smile. “The fire is burning low. Let us gather some more wood.”

Legolas nodded and the two elves stood from their places by the campfire. As they walked away from the light of the camp, Beldor looked over his shoulder to find Targon watching him, and Lamen watching Targon, a suspecting arch set upon the counselor’s brow.

“You should not let Lamen lead you into conversation like that,” Beldor warned once he and Legolas were far enough away. “That is the game he plays. Cunning that one is.”

“I do not know why my father sent him with us,” Legolas said angrily.

“His intensions were good,” Beldor answered. “Lamen may be a pain in the arse, but he is an excellent negotiator. I believe your father expects that Lamen will speak for your innocence should there be any need. But as I said already, Lord Elrond will not be hard to deal with.”

There was another reason Lamen was sent, but Beldor would not tell Legolas. Thranduil meant for the two bodyguards to be kept in line, and Lamen would report anything mischievous to the King. This angered Beldor, to think that Thranduil did not trust the two royal guards to do their duty. Neither one would let anything happen to Legolas.

He was seething silently as he and Legolas collected firewood, when Targon joined them. “I spoke with Lamen. He will be of no concern for the remainder of the journey.”

“What did you say to him?” Beldor said worriedly.

“Nothing he did not need to know,” Targon smiled. He took the wood from Beldor and handed it to Legolas. “Will you give us a moment, my Prince?”

“Of course,” Legolas said, nodding and struggling to keep some of the bigger branches from falling.

Once he was out of earshot, Targon stepped closer to Beldor, their bodies almost touching. Shards of blue gazed at the dark haired ellon, “I finally have you alone. Oh, the things I could do to you right now, but then I would lose our little wager, and I do not like to lose.”

“Neither do I, which is why I will not even contemplate your offer,” Beldor responded. Then his hazel eyes scanned slowly down Targon’s body. “Seems such a waste,” he said, settling his gaze on the bulge within Targon’s leggings. “How simple it would be for you to take me with naught but the thin material of our clothes keeping our flesh apart.”

“Are you seducing me, Beldor? Because if you are… it is working,” Targon whispered, and lowered his mouth to his lover’s, stopping before their lips touch. “If I kiss you, will it end this wager?”

“If you kiss me right now, it might lead to the thing that will end with both of us writhing in the leaves,” Beldor said.

Targon looked deep into his lover’s eyes until Beldor’s mouth opened, ready to accept the fiery kiss that awaited them both. But instead of following through on his intensions, Targon stood straight, reached for his manhood and readjusted himself. He gave Beldor a ruthless smile. “As I said already, I do not like to lose.”

With the moment passed, the two warriors went back to the campsite, finding Lamen resting next to the fire, eyes staring at the stars above. Legolas sat on his heels, feeding the smaller sticks into the growing fire. Beldor led the way into the small clearing where they made their camp. Targon was close behind carrying a few more small logs for the fire. He threw them onto the pile that Legolas brought back.

“Wait a moment, Beldor. It seems you have a thorn stuck through your clothes. Those brambles are quite nasty,” Targon said, and then calling to Lamen, he added, “I’d stay clear of the forest to the east if you decide to go hunting for wood. There are some dangerously large thorns that will impale you deep into your flesh.”

To the others it was just a simple warning, but Beldor heard the innuendo in Targon’s tone. It wasn’t the bramble’s thorn he was speaking of. Thoughts of Targon draping him across a fallen log and having his way with him flooded his mind when suddenly there was a strong hand cupping his arse. He tried very hard not to look surprised.

“There, seems to have slid out easily… the thorn that is,” Targon commented, and his hand squeezed the firm muscles he held, his fingers moving dangerously close and fondling Beldor through his leggings.

“I thank you, Targon,” Beldor said, his voice seeming a little strange.

Lamen took strict notice of the exchange, but there was no evidence of anything between the two, besides their daring speech. He silently vowed to find something lecherous to tell King Thranduil, for he was not at all happy with the way Targon spoke to him earlier. Nothing he said was threatening, for that would be cause for concern, but the gilded one’s tone was hazardous, and Lamen wasn’t sure what the warrior might do.

Once everyone had settled around the fire, Beldor set his gaze on Targon, as if to say he would pay for his risky behavior. Targon answered with a smug smile that said he would like to have payment in full.

* * *

The company of Mirkwood elves rode in to Rivendell, each one sitting tall and proud upon their mounts. They were greeted by Lord Elrond’s chief advisor, Lindir, who called for the stable hands as soon as the company was within the courtyard. Each elf retrieved their belongings, and Lindir called for servants to take their things to their guest quarters. Then the advisor led the group to a private audience chamber, where they were greeted by Lord Elrond. They exchanged a few niceties, but Elrond wanted to speak with Legolas. Targon and Beldor were excused, while Lamen cunningly forced his way into the meeting with the Prince. The two bodyguards stood nearby, where they would wait for Legolas to come back from his counsel. They hadn’t officially been relieved of their duty.

With no one around, and Lamen safely busy on the other side of the door, Targon gave Beldor a sultry stare. Beldor turned away to hide a smile, but he needed to see that hungry look again. Those blue eyes set him alight every time.

“What,” Beldor finally asked impatiently.

“I believe we have a draw,” Targon said smoothly. “No winner and no loser.”

“Yes, I guess so. Too bad, the things I had conjured up in my mind would have had you quite surprised,” Beldor antagonized.

“I’ll admit that I’m curious, but we will never know now, will we?”

“We could extend the wager,” Beldor suggested.

Targon knitted his brow questioningly, “Go on.”

“We made it to Rivendell without incident, now we must make it back to Mirkwood.”

“Tempting,” said Targon, giving the idea serious thought. “But there’s no telling how long we might be here, and the journey back home will be torturously long.”

“The rewards for waiting will be worth it.”

Targon thought a moment before he responded, “All right, I will agree to your extended terms, but let’s make this more of a challenge. We’ve both discovered that we are stubborn enough to wait, and I do not want another draw. So this time, I say we each get one chance to try and seduce the other.”

“Hmm, I think I like this new rule. I agree. When shall we start?” Beldor said anxiously.

“Right now, lover,” Targon said. Then he stealthily pushed Beldor up against the door to the private meeting room, where Legolas, Lamen and Elrond’s muffled voices seeped through the dark wood grain. Targon’s mouth was demanding upon Beldor’s neck, sucking the flesh that covered his pulsing vein. It was a dangerous move. Should the door open, they would both fall into the room and Lamen would have his evidence for King Thranduil. It was very exciting and sensuous to know they were so dangerously close to discovery, and Targon’s hot tongue upon Beldor’s pointed ear was making it hard to resist.

“You know I could fuck you right here and no one would be the wiser,” Targon whispered into Beldor’s ear. “I’ll move slowly and silently, touch you deep in that special place, make you come quickly and capture your moans with my kisses. I’ve never fucked you against a door before, especially one that conceals the Prince, our host, and the one elf that would like nothing better than to catch us in the act.”

It was such a deliciously tempting game. The excitement of just the thought made Beldor rise. “They’ll be in there for a while yet.”

“And we cannot leave our post,” Targon added. He pushed his body against Beldor, their swollen lengths rubbing against each other.

“By the gods, Targon, you are hard to resist,” Beldor said with baited breath.

“Mmm, and you are just hard. Perhaps I’ll take you in my mouth instead,” Targon kept suggesting.

Beldor was almost sold on the idea, remembering the last time he allowed Targon to suck him into oblivion. He had grasped the feather mattress so tightly that it ripped and their sweaty bodies were covered in goose down. It had been difficult to explain to the maid how the mattress got damaged, but Beldor came up with an excuse that was not questioned.

But if he gave in now, he would be playing servant to Targon once they returned to Mirkwood. It was this thought that brought Beldor out of his sexual stupor, and he reluctantly pulled away from Targon. “You make it difficult to say no.”

“Then say yes, and soon I’ll be licking a pearly drop from the head of your cock,” Targon smiled deviously.

A shiver ran down Beldor’s spine, settling with a throbbing pulse in his leggings. But Beldor resisted the urge to say yes. He could not verbally refuse, and instead, shook his head to confirm his decision.

Targon shrugged his shoulders, “Well, you are one damn defiant elf. That was my best on such short notice.” As if nothing had transpired between them, Targon stepped back to his side of the closed door and resumed his guard stance, staring straight ahead in militant style.

“However you are able to turn it on and off so easily is beyond me,” Beldor said as he too took up his position opposite Targon.

“I can turn it on and off, but all of this stored up energy must be released sooner or later.”

Beldor nodded in agreement, but in his mind he was hoping for sooner.

* * *

With the meeting adjourned, Targon and Beldor once again escorted their Prince through the grand halls and buildings of Imladris. They had stopped in front of a mural, Legolas seemingly lost in thought. Targon stayed back, but Beldor approached the young Prince, standing at his side.

“Well, how did it go?” he whispered curiously.

Without turning his attention from the ancient painting, Legolas answered, “It could have been worse, I suppose, but Lord Elrond was not happy to hear my news. As a matter of fact, he didn’t say much at all. He just stood there with his brows creased together, his lips a thin line drawn into a frown, his arms crossed, and nodding.” Legolas sighed and straightened his shoulders. “I did as my father commanded. Lord Elrond knows about the fate of the prisoner. He knows that I was partly responsible, and I think I have officially earned his disappointment.” As he spoke, his tone sounded destitute. “I only wish there was some way to recover my pride, and show my father that I am still responsible.”

“I think you have shown your responsibility by being here representing Mirkwood and your father,” said Beldor trying to comfort his friend.

Targon approached. “You did well.”

Legolas forced a small smile and bowed his head. Then he started walking away. Targon and Beldor followed, and Legolas took one last look at the mural of Isildur. “We’ll spend the night, and then we’ll be off for home in the morning.”

“Leaving so soon, Prince Legolas?” said a stranger.

All three elves turned, and to their surprise, they found themselves in the company of none other than Lord Glorfindel. Legolas instantly bowed with a hand to his heart. “My lord, it is an honor to meet you.”

Beldor looked on in utter amazement, eyes wide with surprise. Targon, however, noticed Beldor’s gawking, and instantly began measuring up the ancient elf lord. Who did Glorfindel think he was, to set off a spark in his lover’s eyes, when that spark should only be meant for himself? Targon’s eyes narrowed as he looked on.

Beldor blushed and smiled, “Blessed Valar, but that we should be fortunate enough to be graced by your presence, my lord.”

Targon looked from Beldor to Glorfindel, and rolled his eyes. Then he stepped in front of Beldor, blocking the sable haired elf’s view. “Fortunate, yes,” he said. Then he lifted his chin and set a stern look upon Glorfindel. “I am Targon of Mirkwood. Captain of my lord King Thranduil’s army.”

Glorfindel gave a slight bow, his long gilded locks falling forward over his shoulders. “Well met, Targon of Mirkwood. And are you responsible for this small party from the woodland realm?”

“I am responsible for King Thranduil’s son, as well as my fellow companions,” Targon responded.

Beldor stepped to Targon’s side, unhappy about his treatment. “We are both responsible for Prince Legolas’ safety.”

Lord Glorfindel smiled at Beldor in a way that made Targon see red behind his eyes. He’d never met the elf lord before, but the tales of his adventures were well known among all elves. And then, there were the stories told by the warriors who knew Glorfindel, or who had personal involvement, and those were the things that made Targon’s jealousy rise. The ancient elf had a voracious appetite when it came to ellyn, especially dark haired and comely. If it weren’t for Legolas standing there, Targon would have told Glorfindel to stand down and avert his eyes from Beldor, for he was already spoken for. He may have slayed a Balrog and defied death, but Glorfindel had not faced the wrath of Targon’s overprotective and covetous behavior.

Glorfindel must have sensed this from Targon, for he turned his attention back to the Prince. “My, but it has been a long time since I’ve seen you last.”

“We have met before?” Legolas inquired.

“Why yes, but you would not remember. You were naught but a babe in the safety of your mother’s arms then.” Glorfindel paused and considered the two well-built warriors. “Speaking of safety, you will find that Prince Legolas is well within the protectiveness of Rivendell, and will not need to be guarded.” 

Legolas bowed his head with gratitude, “Thank you my lord, but we shall only be staying for the night, and then we will set off for home in the morning.”

“Actually, this is the reason for our meeting. Lord Elrond has sent me to inform you about a secret counsel he has arranged. He requests that you be present so that you might share your recent information with the rest of the guests. In the meantime, you and your company will be made comfortable.”

“How long will it be until the counsel?” Legolas asked.

“It is difficult to say. We are waiting for the arrival of the others… men from Gondor, Dwarves, and a few unexpected guests,” Glorfindel answered. “Which is why I suggest, if the Prince agrees, that he relieves these two royal guards from their duties for the remainder of their stay.”

‘Why,’ Targon thought to himself, ‘so you can steal away with my lover? Coax him off to some secluded place and have your way with him? I think not.’

“That would be fine with me,” Legolas agreed.

“Good,” Glorfindel said pleased. “It is not often we have visitors from Mirkwood, and it would be my pleasure to give these fine soldiers a tour of our training grounds. Perhaps later we might spar for our own entertainment?”

“I for one would very much like to see Lord Elrond’s military,” Beldor said excitedly.

“Excellent,” Glorfindel said, pleased, his eyes smiling at the sable haired elf.

“And I would not pass up the chance to take up my sword against the mighty Glorfindel,” Targon said, with an almost vindictive tone. “All in good fun, of course,” he added.

“If you don’t mind, Targon, I’d ask a moment of your time before you go, just to discuss a bit of business first,” Legolas intervened.

“Very well, my Prince,” Targon said as he shot a wicked glare at Glorfindel, as though the elf lord was responsible for separating him from Beldor. His annoyance was easily perceived.

“We will be at the training grounds,” Glorfindel said kindly, further infuriating Targon. “Come along when you can and join us there.” He started to guide Beldor away from the group.

Targon tore his eyes from the elf lord and settled them on Beldor. “I won’t be long,” he said, as though in warning. Then he and Legolas went their separate way, while Beldor walked along beside Glorfindel, the two in high spirits, warriors glad to be in each other’s company.

As Beldor and Glorfindel walked towards their destination, the elf lord chuckled to himself. “Your companion has a jealous streak.”

Caught off guard, Beldor was not sure how to react to the statement, and he flapped his mouth open and shut like a fish gasping for a drink of water. Glorfindel clapped a strong hand to Beldor’s shoulder. “I gather it is forbidden?” he asked, and Beldor understood the meaning.

“Not exactly. It is only forbidden between bodyguards who provide protection to the same charge. Our king wouldn’t want us… distracted from our duties, especially when it is his only son who is being kept under close watch,” Beldor explained.

“So then I am correct that you and Targon are mates?” Glorfindel asked.

“Yes,” Beldor answered, a slight blush tinging his cheeks.

Glorfindel gave the Mirkwood soldier a quick scan with his eyes, “I can see why he is so unduly protective.”

Beldor was speechless and smiled silently, while Glorfindel put his flirting aside. “I, too, have a jealous lover. As a matter of fact, he is watching us this very moment.”

Surprised, Beldor turned his head to the right and then to the left, looking for someone giving him a glaring eye. Glorfindel simply laughed and pat Beldor on the back. “Do not trouble. He is in his study having a good long look at our backs and wondering what is going on. I’ll not hear the end of it later, but the much later will have its rewards.”

Beldor nodded in agreement and wondered if Targon was still watching. “In that case. . .” the Mirkwood soldier said, and placed his hand on Glorfindel’s back. “I wholly agree with the much later part. Let them stew for a while.”

Glorfindel and Beldor continued to the training grounds, where the elf lord gave him a thorough tour of Rivendell’s military. It was much more moderate than the training in Mirkwood. Of course, Mirkwood was a militant society compared to other elf realms, and they had to be with all that happened in the darkened woods. Constant attack by the enemy made for a warrior-bred community, and everyone contributed to the safety of their homeland. Still, what Rivendell had accomplished was satisfactory for the realm.

They were done for now, and Beldor wondered why Targon hadn’t joined them yet. Perhaps something urgent happened, and he could not leave Legolas’ side. Or perhaps, Lamen stirred trouble, as he so often liked to do. At the end of their earlier meeting, the nosey counselor had insisted on staying in Lord Elrond’s company. He had agreed, and Lamen, once again, got his way. At least he was not spying on Beldor and Targon if he was busy pestering Elrond.

That thought sparked an idea. Without Lamen around, perhaps Beldor and Targon could spend some time together. Legolas did not need the kind of protection that he needed while traveling on the open roads. Rivendell was a sanctuary of peace and comfort. Located in a secluded valley with only a few ways within, it was almost worry free.

Oh, Beldor reminded himself, but they had this blasted wager going on between them. First one to give in to their carnal desires would become the other one’s servant. Well, Beldor couldn’t very well lose this bet. He had his pride to keep in check. Ah, but Targon had already used up his one attempt at seduction. Now it was Beldor’s turn. So it was still possible that they might enjoy a reprieve from their duties, but only if Beldor could make Targon lose the wager. He’d have to play on his weakness, but that was easier said than done. Targon had very few weaknesses.

Beldor was about to put these thoughts aside for the time being, until he had a new idea. Perhaps Lord Glorfindel could be of some use. Of course, only with his knowing permission. Beldor hadn’t misinterpreted the steely glare he’d received from Targon as Glorfindel invited him to tour the training grounds. His lover hadn’t been pleased to see him leave with the gilded elf lord. Targon would have a thing or two to say about it. Perhaps Beldor could play on his jealousy, and trick him into a seduction that would end this wager once and for all.

Beldor started a casual conversation with Glorfindel and navigated his way into more personal topics until he was able to inquire about secluded places hidden within the city where two love starved mates might find themselves alone and uninterrupted.

Glorfindel smiled deviously, “You are much bolder than I first thought you to be, Beldor. I think I know just the place you seek, and there should not be a soul around the area late enough in the evening. Come, I’ll show you to the Hall of Fire.”

Beldor was not sure about the location. “The Hall of Fire? Is that not the meeting place for important counsels?”

“It is, but it is abandoned in the late hours of the night. If you are out well before morning, no one will be the wiser,” Glorfindel advised. “And of course there is a supply closet that is rarely used unless a meeting is being prepared. But if you are looking for something less adventurous, I could call for a room to be prepared well on the other side of the guest quarters.”

“No, no… I’d rather surprise Targon with someplace a little less conventional,” Beldor insisted.

Glorfindel smiled, “Ah, let it never be said that woodland elves have no imagination. I like your way of thinking, Beldor. Mayhap I shall take a lesson from you in the element of surprise.”

Beldor laughed and leaned close to Glorfindel’s ear, “The best lovemaking is when it is unexpected.”

“Agreed,” Glorfindel smiled.

* * *

The day went on, and Beldor and Targon hadn’t met up until the evening meal. There was definite tension emanating from Targon, but he did not address Beldor as to why he hadn’t seen him all day. Instead, he asked questions about where he’d been and what he’d seen. So far Targon hadn’t sensed anything out of sorts, and Beldor was behaving quite normally. Still, the Mirkwood Captain could not put his finger on it, but something was amiss.

All was well as Beldor and Targon joined Legolas and Lamen for the meal. Lamen wore a smug look throughout. They figured the counselor had weaseled his way into Lord Elrond’s good graces, and had somehow found an advantage that the others did not find necessary. Such was the way of the Mirkwood counselor, always finding the slightest crack in any door that would allow him entry when it suited him best. In the long run, relations between Rivendell and Mirkwood would be available without hesitation. Lamen had his uses, if one could look past his arrogance and prying.

Just as things seemed to be easing at their table, Glorfindel appeared and asked to join them. Targon’s unease returned, but he did not let it show as he had last time. They shared tales over bread and cheese, spoke strategies over sweet rolls, and told personal stories while sharing Rivendell’s best wine.

The evening was running late, and Glorfindel stood, excusing himself from his companions. He met each one with his steady eyes, but Targon felt the elf lord had looked a moment too long at Beldor, and Beldor did not seem to mind. In fact, he was almost blushing, or it could be the wine, Targon reminded himself. Nevertheless, Targon was once again seething silently over another exchange between his lover and the elf lord of ancient Gondolin.

Finally, Legolas commented that the hour was late and Lamen agreed. “Perhaps we should call it an evening,” the counselor suggested.

“Today has been quite lengthy, and I am beyond tired,” Legolas said as he yawned with weariness.

Beldor looked past everyone, “It has been a very long day indeed, but I don’t think I’m quite ready to retire yet. Perhaps I’ll have a look at the library, or maybe the Hall of Fire. I’d very much like to get a better look at the enormous mantel at the back of the hall. Such detail cannot be seen unless up close.”

Targon gave him a hopeful stare. Was this a message that Beldor was sending, to spend some time alone with him?

“I could come with you,” Targon suggested, not a hint of emotion in his voice, so as not to stir suspicions. Lamen was listening very closely. “As long as my Prince does not need an escort back to his quarters.”

“I am quite safe here, Targon,” Legolas replied. “By all means, enjoy this peace while it is available to us.” He grasped Lamen on the shoulder. “Come, counselor, we’ll walk together.”

Lamen was intensely watching the exchange between Beldor and Targon. This could very well be his chance to catch the two warriors together and report them to the Thranduil. Nothing would please the counselor more, and the King would see how committed he was to his liege.

Beldor addressed Targon, giving him a friendly smile, but it came up short of touching his eyes. “I rather think I’ll be fine by myself for a while.” Again, he looked past Targon and the others, as though he was looking for someone else. Then his sight came back to Targon, catching that icy blue fire in his jealous eyes. Beldor knew his plan was working.

Targon’s anger was exploding on the inside, but he remained calm as he feigned a smile. “If that is your choice, I will not intrude.” He turned on his heel, as if to follow Legolas and Lamen back to the guest quarters. Actually, he was leading the other two a little distance away so he could have a private word with Beldor, and tell him he knew what he was up to… sneaking off to meet with Lord Glorfindel.

Targon stopped short and bowed to Legolas and Lamen. “If you’ll pardon me, there is something I forgot to inform Beldor about. Go on, and I’ll catch you up momentarily.”

Legolas nodded and continued walking, expecting Lamen to follow, but the counselor stopped to watch Targon.

Beldor hadn’t gone far, and Targon caught up to him, grabbed him roughly by the arm and stopped him. “What are you about, Beldor?” said Targon in a stern whisper. “I feel as though you are avoiding me.”

“Not at all,” Beldor insisted, “Why ever would you think that?”

“Because you just completely turned down my offer, when we finally have a moment to spend quietly together,” Targon said.

Beldor looked over Targon’s shoulder, finding Lamen lurking and stretching his neck. “I think it is not wise for us to be seen alone right now, or have you not noticed our spy.”

At a distance, they just looked like two guards having a casual conversation, but up close, Targon looked enraged, and there was nothing he could do about it. What angered him even more was the unconcerned look upon Beldor’s face.

“I would just like a few moments of calm and quiet, nothing more,” Beldor said. “Why don’t you go back to your quarters, and if no one is watching your door, I’ll come lay my head beside yours, but nothing else. We still have this wager, and I think you would not like to lose and be my servant for the week.” Beldor took a step to the side where he could see Lamen and Legolas waiting for Targon. “Good night, Prince Legolas… Counselor,” he called. Then his eyes turned to Targon, “Until later.” With that, Beldor walked away in the direction of the Hall of Fire.

Targon did not move an inch as he stared at Beldor’s back with narrowed eyes, willing them to burn a hole in his back. No such luck. Beldor continued around the corner and out of sight. Targon would not move, his booted feet securely welded to the stone floor. Damn the elf for thinking he could get away with this! The whole evening played back in his mind. Glorfindel showing late, the looks he and Beldor shared when they thought no one was paying them any mind, and then Glorfindel departing before the others. Targon would call himself an orc’s brother if he was wrong about his suspicions, but every inch of his being told him that Beldor was sneaking off for a rendezvous with the all mighty Lord Glorfindel. Others might cower at the mention of the legendary Eldar, but Targon could give a goblin’s shit who he was. No one seduced his lover away from him, the bloody Gondolin bastard.

Seething, Targon started to take a step in the direction he had seen Beldor go, when he was caught off guard by a hand upon his shoulder. “Going somewhere?” Lamen said from behind.

Targon regained his control and slowed his breathing before he turned to face the annoying counselor, but something would not let him leave his position. In his mind, Targon was imagining the gilded elf lord with his long wavy locks spilling around Beldor, curtaining them as they secretly shamed Targon. Fools, both of them if they thought he didn’t know.

Targon tried to take another step, but Lamen’s hand squeezed tighter. “Think twice, guardsman, or you’ll regret your next decision.”

Why Lamen was giving him any kind of warning was confusing. Perhaps Lamen also suspected what Targon had, and felt sorry for him. Targon did not take kindly to sympathy. “Release me if you want to keep your good writing hand, scribe,” the warrior threatened.

“Go to him and I’ll have no choice but to report my findings to the King. You are Thranduil’s personal guard, and you have a responsibility to his son’s safety. I only warn you because I would not like to see you demoted to kitchen duty, and have to look over my shoulder for the rest of eternity. The choice is up to you, Targon.”

As Lamen spoke, Legolas approached and stood at Targon’s side. He addressed Lamen from the corner of his eyes, “Leave them be, Lamen. This does not concern you.”

“Your father has put rules in place to see that you are always under strict protection against—”

“Yes, yes,” Legolas interrupted the counselor, “strict protection against any dangers and that there are no disruptions, blah, blah. I know every rule… every law that my father has put in place. In this case, I do not agree. I may be young in your eyes, Lamen, but I am a fierce warrior myself, and need no protection, especially here. Rivendell has no threats. All is well in this fertile valley. Let them be, counselor. Targon, you are released from your duty for the evening. Lamen, come with me. I believe we need to sort out a few things.”

Targon was dumbfounded by Legolas’ assistance, but he did not show it as he politely bowed to the Prince. “I will be at your door first thing tomorrow.”

“That will be fine, Targon. You are a loyal guard. I see why my father keeps you at his side, and for the same reasons I keep Beldor by mine,” Legolas said. Keeping a firm hand on Lamen’s shoulder, the Prince led the counselor out of the dining hall and towards the guest quarters.

Targon stood another short moment, deciding what he would do when, and if, he found Beldor preoccupied. “There hasn’t been a kin slaying in many millennia, but there might be one tonight,” Targon growled silently before storming off to the Hall of Fire.

* * *

“Thank you for your help,” Beldor told Glorfindel where they stood just inside the grand hall.

Glorfindel nodded, “My pleasure, Beldor, and with any luck it will soon be yours. Now, I must go before Targon finds me talking to you and skewers me like a boar.”

Beldor laughed, “He is not fond of you at the moment, and I doubt he will thank you tomorrow.”

“Well, I’ll have my own explaining to do when I get home, but before I do, I’ll make sure there will be no interruptions. As I said before, no one comes here at this time of night, but I will make a quick round just to be sure.”

“Again, thank you Lord Glorfindel,” Beldor bowed.

Glorfindel smiled, “I like your spirit, both of you. Such daring adventures, I must remember, and perhaps I can try this method on my mate. He is a bit like Targon, but without the heavy sword and armor.” Glorfindel paused when he thought about it. “A wager, ha! I like that. Clever, very clever.”

Beldor watched Glorfindel walk to the entrance of the hall, turn the corner and disappear. Then he scanned the hall to see if he’d been followed. No one was around as he had hoped. The hall was dimly lit by a few lanterns. There was no fire in the oversized hearth. Unless the hall was being used, the open fireplace sat dark. A good sign that Glorfindel was right about the secludedness of the grand hall. Now, if only Targon would show, then he would know his plan had worked.

Targon would never lose this wager, unless he could be provoked somehow. Beldor had seen the resentment he had against what he thought was a rival. Of course, Beldor’s heart beat for only one elf, and that was Targon. Still, no matter how often Beldor assured him of this, Targon managed to maintain his vigilance against anyone who he thought was a threat. Some would find this behavior tiring or overwhelming, but Beldor knew it was the best way that his beloved exhibited his emotions. Targon was a protector, a born and bred warrior. It was the one way he knew how to make his love known to Beldor, and the sable haired elf rather liked the attention. The soft hearted guard and the hardened warrior made an odd pairing, but they were most compatible.

Beldor lingered at the end of the hall, waiting for the game to begin. With any luck, Targon would lose the wager tonight, and they would both be rewarded. Actually, whatever happened, there would be no loser. Beldor’s body warmed at the thought, and he smiled to himself.

Just then, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. At the entrance of the hall, he saw a shadow float into the grand room and disappear behind one of the many stone columns. Beldor pretended not to notice, and traced his finger over the never ending designs on the hearth. He could feel a set of eyes upon him, a presence coming ever closer, and he turned his back anticipating what would happen next. His skin was already jumping knowing that at any moment Targon would be upon him. No matter how prepared he thought he was, he never was, and he wasn’t this time either. Suddenly and without warning, someone claimed him by the waist, familiar hands, strong and demanding. Warm breath caressed the back of his ear, and Beldor’s desire grew instantly.

“Waiting for someone?” Targon said with a demanding growl.

“No, not at all,” Beldor answered firmly.

“Why do you toy with me, Beldor? Do you think I am blind?”

Beldor released himself from Targon’s firm grasp and turned to face him. “What are you talking about?”

Blue eyes as sharp as a blade cut through to Beldor’s soul. “Were you following someone? Glorfindel perhaps? I’ve seen the way you behave in his presence, as though you are a love starved youth seeing his idol for the first time.”

“I cannot help it if I am a bit awestricken by him. He is a legend. He’s been to Mandos and returned by the grace of the Valar. Who would not be afflicted with sudden wonder for someone like Lord Glorfindel?” As Beldor spoke, he slowly backed towards the door to the storeroom, which was off to the right of the great hearth.

“The only affliction I felt was my spiking anger when I saw the way he swallowed you with his eyes,” Targon responded as he matched Beldor’s steps.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Beldor accused, “He has a mate. He is not interested in me.”

“To someone like him, that means little. I’ve heard the stories about him. All warriors know about his insatiable appetite, and from the way he was looking at you, I think he saw you as the main course.”

By now, Beldor’s back was flat against the storeroom door. He wiggled the handle and found it unlocked, just as Glorfindel had told him. Targon did not notice. “The only one I seek to nourish is you,” he said seductively, and his hand reached to cup Targon’s face.

Targon leaned against the door, his arm anchored above Beldor’s head, trapping the elf against the wood grain. “You say that now as I have found you here … alone … but what would happen if I hadn’t followed you?”

Beldor was trying very hard to keep up this game, but he could not help feel a bit perturbed by Targon’s accusations. “Do you really feel that way? Do you think I would throw away everything we have nurtured between us… everything we have worked so hard to build? It is your jealousy that provokes the thought of conspiracy. Nothing has happened here.”

“Nothing? Hmm, I’m sure something could happen here, if I have anything to do with it.” Targon’s other hand traveled up Beldor’s thigh and around his hip, finding the door handle and turning it. The door slowly swung open on its hinge. “Get in,” Targon demanded.

“Here?” Beldor feigned disgust. “But it is a storeroom closet.” His plan was working beautifully, and Targon was in a frenzied state of lust. “There’s not even a lock on it. What if Lamen comes looking for us?”

“He’s of no concern to us anymore. Now, get your sweet arse inside this room.”

Beldor’s body was alight with need. Targon was sexiest when he was so demanding. Still, there was a chance that Beldor’s plans might go awry if he was not careful. “What do you mean to do here?”

“What do you think?” Targon moaned, a wicked smile curling the corners of his mouth. “I’m going to fuck you so hard that Glorfindel will feel it, and know what he is missing. You are mine, Beldor, and no one else’s.”

“By the gods do I love it when you talk to me like this,” Beldor said breathlessly.

Targon’s mouth assailed upon Beldor’s, pushing his dark haired lover further into the room until they could go no further, a stack of flour sacks at their heels. Targon stood back, his breath heavy and his chest heaving. He looked over his shoulder, eyeing the open door, and then back to Beldor.

“Undress,” he demanded, then turned to close the storeroom door.

Beldor did not hesitate, and started loosening the straps at the sides of his tunic, slipping it from his shoulders. Targon came back, his fingers fumbling quickly to untie the laces of his own leggings. He watched Beldor shuck the tunic from his body, and he motioned for him to undo his lacings.

Beldor did as his lover’s eyes told him, and soon he had discarded his leggings. Then he started working on the buttons of his undershirt, but Targon had no more patience to wait. The gold haired warrior grabbed each side of the white shirt and pulled it apart. The sound of material ripping set Beldor’s blood running hot with need.

Targon urgently took his naked lover in his arms and savagely attacked him with demanding nips and kisses. Beldor leaned back onto the flour sacks, his length springing upwards, balls firm and ready. Targon’s hand stroked him until he thought he could hold back no more. Then Targon lifted Beldor’s thighs so that they anchored to his waist. He had lowered his leggings just enough to make himself available. This would be quick and hard, for Targon was beyond any reason except for instant satisfaction. Without the traditional tools to prepare themselves, Targon resolved the problem by spitting in his hand and moistened Beldor. Then he brought the head of his shaft to Beldor and paused.

“You belong to me,” he moaned in a threatening tone.

“Forever,” Beldor agreed.

“And Glorfindel?” Targon asked, demanding an answer.

“He was never a threat. He is nothing compared to you,” Beldor answered, his hips rising up needing Targon inside him.

Targon cocked his head to the side cynically. “You never were interested in him, were you?” he accused.

“Nor was he interested in me. I could never look at anyone the way I look at you. Targon, you are all that I need. You are all I want. My soul is yours, for I love you and no one else.”

“Ah,” Targon said and smiled, “You have deceived me, and Glorfindel was your crafty device.”

“Your jealousy is your downfall and you let yourself be deceived,” Beldor smiled back arrogantly. “In other words, I beat you at your own game. We find ourselves in a compromising position, and I win.”

“So that’s what this was all about. And Glorfindel—”

“Showed me this secluded room,” Beldor said, finishing Targon’s sentence. He lifted himself on his elbows, their solid shafts pressing together. “But since I feel the slightest guilt for my trickery, I’ll give you this one opportunity to save your pride. We can get dressed and call it a draw.”

Targon’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and for a moment Beldor thought he was considering the offer. But just as quickly, Targon’s face softened, which it did only rarely, and he looked at Beldor with softened eyes. “Fuck the wager. You win, beloved.”

“We both win though, don’t we?” Beldor sighed as Targon pushed him onto the sacks once more.

“It’s damn worth it,” Targon moaned and he slid into Beldor, filling him.

Beldor’s legs were thrown over his head as he lay on the flour sacks, perfectly positioned for Targon’s deep thrusts. The backs of his knees rested on Targon’s shoulders, legs bouncing in the air. Unable to help himself, Beldor began moaning with pleasure. Targon was a quiet lover, not making a sound until he came, and then it was a most erotic noise of blissful passion.

“You must keep quiet, lover,” Targon insisted.

“I can’t help myself. You feel so good,” Beldor said breathlessly. “Ai, by the gods! Right there!”

“Hush!” Targon demanded, still pounding Beldor on top of the flour sacks.

“I… I can’t… feels so… oh… ohhhh… FUCK!”

Targon was lost in ecstasy as was Beldor. Neither one thought about anything, except for the feel of their bodies slapping together. Targon no longer cared if anyone heard them, least of all Lamen. Let the nosey counselor see them. Let him report his findings. Nothing mattered during the throws of passion. If kitchen duty it was, then it was worth every moment.

As Targon bent over his lover, their bodies moving together stroked Beldor’s cock, and he could not contain his moans of elation. “An ngell nîn, tolo ar nin!” he begged in Sindarin. For my joy, come with me. Then, Beldor came between them, his warm seed slicking their chests and stomachs so that they slid together easily.

The sight of Beldor’s pearly essence pumping over his alabaster skin was too much, and Targon came hard, a strangled moan escaping his throat, the strained look of pleasure washing over his face. Beldor’s body was tight around his pulsing cock as he spilled himself within, the blissful movements caressing the most sensitive parts of his swollen length.

Suddenly, light spilled into the room from the grand hall. The door to the storeroom swung open, violently crashing into the wall. Beldor gasped and looked around Targon, still buried deep within, pumping the last of his essence. Then without warning, Targon pulled from him, and spun on his heel to face the intruder. In the doorway stood a very upset and angered elf. His hair was straight and dark, and his build was not like that of a warrior. Instantly, Beldor thought it was Lamen, but lucky for them it wasn’t.

Not bothering to cover his modesty, Targon straightened his shoulders and gave the elf a threatening glare from his cold blue eyes. He’d seen this one before, watching from his window as Glorfindel escorted the Mirkwood company towards the practice grounds. Obviously, by the knowing look on the intruder’s face, the elf knew who they were also.

Beldor got himself up from the pile of sacks and grabbed the closest article of clothing, covering his nakedness. He recognized the elf as Glorfindel’s mate, and panic set in quickly as he started begging in Sindarin. “Please, my lord, do not tell Prince Legolas you found us like this. It is … it is forbidden for royal guards to be involved.”

The new elf stammered awkwardly, unable to form a sentence. Beldor’s mind drew a picture of the scene into permanent memory. How it must all look to the embarrassed elf, and Targon just standing there, still hard and exposed, glaring with murderous intent. Years from now, they would look back and laugh at this moment, but not yet.

“I… I was looking for someone… I mean something, and… I, uh… heard voices,” the elf uttered with spasmodic breaks and pauses.

Targon’s attention shifted from the unwelcomed guest to Beldor. “Did I not say you were too loud?” Keeping himself in check, he faced the unknown elf again. “Will you speak to Prince Legolas about this or not?”

The elf shook his head fearfully as he reached back blindly looking for the door handle. “Not a word. It is none of my business.”

Beldor found his leggings, in the meantime, and struggled to get into them. He pulled them up and quickly pulled the laces taut. Then he gave the elf a quick nervous bow. “Thank you Lord Erestor,” he said, remembering the name at last.

Erestor fumbled until he had a secure hold of the doorknob. He backed out of the room and closed the door. Beldor sighed with relief, but Targon looked quite perturbed. “How can you be so sure he will not go to Legolas or even worse, Lamen?”

“I don’t know for sure, but something tells me you frightened him into silence,” said Beldor pointing to Targon’s exposure. “Have you no shame?”

Targon looked down and his softened cock and finally laced his leggings, making sure everything was in place. Beldor finished getting dressed, his tunic securely done up, and hiding the torn undershirt. He reached for the door, but Targon stopped him and held an index finger up to his lips.

“What is it?” Beldor panicked. He feared that Legolas or Lamen was beyond the storeroom door.

“He is arguing with someone,” informed Targon.

“We cannot leave! We’re trapped!”

Targon put his ear to the door, eavesdropping on the conversation. “Relax, it’s Lord Glorfindel.” Targon listened a while longer and then he laughed.

“What!” demanded Beldor, his patience completely spent by now.

“Lord Erestor thought I was Glorfindel because of our similar hair color. Seems I’m not the only one who thought yours and Glorfindel’s behavior was a bit peculiar. Erestor had the same suspicions as I.”

The argument was not waning. As a matter of fact, it was escalating. “We’ll never get out of here if we wait for them to finish their quarrel,” Targon complained. “Come on.”

“No, wait a moment we mustn’t—” But before Beldor could finish the sentence, Targon had the door open and was stepping out into the middle of a bitter conversation between Glorfindel and Erestor. They silenced instantly, and Erestor’s back remained towards the storeroom.

Targon paused where he stood next to Glorfindel, and he nodded with apprehension. “I hope we have not caused any trouble.”

“All is well,” Glorfindel answered.

Targon was satisfied with this answer, but he was not sure about Erestor. His blue eyes settled on Rivendell’s chief advisor, but his question was directed to Glorfindel. “And he will not—”

“Not a word,” Glorfindel interrupted.

Targon and Beldor bowed, but they left Glorfindel and Erestor to work out their differences. As they made their way through the Hall of Fire, they could still hear Erestor’s accusation.

Erestor’s voice traveled to the other’s ears. “You knew about them?”

“Who do you think told them about the storeroom?” they heard Glorfindel argue, a hint of laughter in his voice. Perhaps it was not as serious a spat as they first thought.

Beldor and Targon exited the Hall of Fire nearly running into Lamen. The counselor’s eyes widened with surprise, then they narrowed and his smiled deviously.

“I knew it. I knew it,” he accused. “Look at the two of you with your clothes disheveled and your hair unkempt. You’ve been having SEX!” he said with emphasis.

“Yes,” Beldor stated proudly.

Targon smiled, “But you can’t prove that is was with each other. We were not alone. See for yourself.”

Lamen stretched his neck and heard other voiced floating out from the Hall of Fire.

“Lord Glorfindel and Lord Elrond are in there,” Beldor added.

Lamen looked from the entrance of the hall back to Targon and Beldor. His face turned red with anger, so red that Beldor thought he saw smoke rise from Lamen’s high tight collar. He knew he had no proof, even though, had he been just moments earlier, he would have had all the proof he needed. He shook his fist at the pair of warriors. “Don’t think I won’t report this to King Thranduil. I know something happened, and it happened between both of you. You have disregarded the laws of our land. You have shamed your positions as royal guards to the royal family. Neither one of you is worthy of that position now, and when Thranduil learns about this—”

“Fuck off, Lamen,” Beldor and Targon said in unison. Then they laughed as they realized they’d read each other’s minds. Their lewd comment left Lamen speechless as they walked side by side, heading in the direction of the guest quarters. By now they cared not whether Lamen followed them, but he did not, fortunately.

Finally at their rooms, Beldor pivoted and looked lovingly at Targon. “You should come in. I will not sleep alone tonight.” His tone was demanding, just as Targon often spoke to Beldor. “Remember, you are my servant to do with as I please.”

“Your demand has me standing already,” Targon admitted. “I think I do not mind this loss.”

“And I think I am going to like dominating you,” said Beldor as he held the door open for Targon to pass through. “Now, first order of business… I want you naked on my bed, and on your knees. Hurry up before I change my mind.”

“Ai, what has happened to my sweet kind-hearted Beldor?” Targon jested as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Beldor peeled the shirt from Targon’s shoulders, flinging it to the floor. “I left him in the storeroom closet,” he said as his hands roamed over the chiseled torso of his lover.

Targon closed his eyes and relished in the feel of Beldor’s slow moist tongue lapping at his nipples. “Best wager I ever lost,” he moaned.

For the first night of many, Targon surrendered to Beldor, giving in to the need to always be in control. And Beldor gained his confidence as he discovered the joy of ruling over Targon.


End file.
